


Any Castle I'll Build

by honey_wheeler



Series: Bedroom Hymns [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:32:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa wants to make him forget to be gentle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Any Castle I'll Build

"Oh, I like this." Jon's voice is low and rough in Sansa's ear, the movement of his lips making her shiver. She laughs, but she doesn't quite have the breath for it, so it comes out as little more than an exhalation. She’d thought he would. She’d known _she_ would; just looking at it in the book as she browsed through it while he was away had made her flush and squirm in her seat, always a good sign when it comes to determining which positions she’ll enjoy most. This one had made her so restless – had seemed so potent to imagine, with her in Jon’s lap as he sat, her back to his chest, his hands free to roam as he took her – that she’d pressed the spine of the book into her lap and moved against it in a way so shameful she’d been glad Sam was busy elsewhere.

"Of course you like it," she tells him, tipping her head back to his shoulder, wordlessly encouraging him to slide his mouth down to her neck, an encouragement he takes immediately. "This is everything you enjoy all at once." The hand he has at the juncture of her thighs makes a leisurely circuit, his other hand cupped around her breast, holding her and holding her back against him at the same time. His tongue is hot and wet over the top of her shoulder, just as she is hot and wet around his cock, and he makes a murmuring sound that's half approval and half protest.

"Not _everything_ ," he counters, pushing up into her in tandem with the rhythm of his fingers. She can barely focus on his words when he's doing such things to her body, but she manages to make a questioning sound even as she turns her head to seek his kiss, wanting him inside her in every possible way. The kiss is so deep and dizzying that she could almost forget her question, but she remembers.

"What could be missing that you'd wish to do?" she asks. 

"I'd wish to be in two places at once so I could taste you even as you take me inside you."

"Gods, _Jon_." 

He continues, ruthlessly and devastatingly, his lips moving over hers as they form the words. “I’d love to taste you when you peak around my cock. I want to claim your sweet, delicious cunt as mine in every way.” The words act on her immediately, and she tightens around him in response, shivering out one of the small releases that she knows now leads only to a larger one.

“I would enjoy two Jons as well,” she says, pushing his fingers aside to drag them over herself where she’s full with him and dripping from it, “but I suppose this will have to do.”

The sound he makes when she offers her fingers to him over her shoulder is desperate enough to curl her toes. He captures her fingers with his lips, sucking them clean in a long, deep pull that only makes her toes curl all the more, the coarse hair of his calves tickling her feet. He licks and sucks at her fingers, long after any trace of her desire is gone, his own fingers returning to circle and tease and make her utterly mad.

“I would love your mouth on me,” she gasps, wanting to make him as mindless as she. “I love the way you eat my cunt, Jon.” The words feel reckless and thrilling on her tongue, any embarrassment she feels at saying them overshadowed completely by the way he stiffens at her back and his fingers stutter over her, as if he feels her words with his entire body.

“Sansa,” he groans, his hand at her breast squeezing with delicious pressure, more pressure than she thinks he’d apply were he not so impassioned. It makes her feel powerful, and suddenly she wants nothing more than to strip him of every scrap of his carefully held control. She wants to make him forget to be gentle.

“Some days it’s all I think about,” she says, the words not merely a provocation, but also a confession, something she’s never told him before. She twists her hands in the short, soft curls at his nape and tugs, glorying in the answering rumble she feels in his chest where it’s pressed to her back. “I daydream of your mouth on me. Yesterday at supper I imagined putting myself on the table at your place and spreading my legs and letting you devour me.” 

The sound he makes could be her name were it not so wild and incoherent. He is jerking and trembling beneath her, his movements growing rougher with each word she says. It makes her feel wild and wanton. It leaves her wanting more, always more of him. Instinctively she lifts one leg to hook her knee over the arm of the chair, letting out a needy whimper when he shifts within her, a whimper he matches with a pained sound. Immediately, he catches up her other knee and grips it tightly, pulling it back to leave her so exposed that she can scarcely bear it. She leans back hard into him, circling her hips and feeling utterly shameless in her need for him. 

“Gods, Sansa,” he pants, “You…I can’t…” His fingers work over her with needy desperation and she revels in it – it is for her, he is desperate because of _her_ – and she adds her touch to his, urging him along and slipping her hand low to touch his cock where it’s buried inside her. “Sansa, _gods_.” His fingers tighten on her knee to the point of pain but she welcomes it, feeling the bite of his grip deep in her belly and throbbing around his cock in response. 

“Please, Jon,” she tells him, low and urgent, “please.” Her fingers twist so violently in his hair that she distantly thinks she might hurt him, but he shows no sign of it, instead only answering by drawing her knee back even further, his hips moving as insistently as his fingers. “ _Jon_ ,” she cries, writhing against him, working down onto his cock and up into his hand in a staggered rhythm.

“Come for me, Sansa,” he moans into her ear, “I want to feel you peak around me.” Her bodily responds easily to his rough invitation, eagerly. It still surprises her, that she could be so wanton for him; even as a girl, before she’d soured so on marriage and romance, she’d imagined sweet caresses and soft words. She’d imagined pleasure, but not this untethered, mindless wildness. “Good girl,” he croons as she dissolves into throbbing release around him, her body shaking and shaking and shaking with it until she thinks it might never end. “Gods, you feel so good, so bloody good.”

She slumps against his chest, limbs languid and blissfully heavy even as she shivers out the last of her peak. He doubles the pace of his hips in search of his own release now that she’s found her own, both hands gripping her knees and pulling them back, holding her so tightly that she dreamily thinks she’ll be spangled with purple constellations of bruises from his fingertips tomorrow. His rough shout sounds in her ear just before she feels him spill inside her, hot and pulsing and good. She tightens around him as he spends, squeezing and fluttering with all the muscles she hadn’t known existed before Jon, wanting the same blinding pleasure for him that he gave her.

It’s hard to say how long they sit together, his face pressed behind her ear, his breath stirring the damp strands of her hair. His cock is yet inside her and she holds still, so still, wanting to keep him there, loving the feel of him. He’s let go her knees to wrap his arms gently and carefully about her, one banding her hips and the other curled about her ribs, and she can see the red marks his fingers have left, evidence of his desire, a desire so great it overcame his innate gentility. Feeling almost giddy, she touches her finger to one, smiling and catching her breath at the tiny ache it brings. She knows that every time she feels that ache over the next few days, she’ll remember being here with him like this and it will make her almost embarrassingly wet, no matter where she is or what she’s doing.

“Gods,” he finally manages, his voice so wrecked and reverent that it sends a thrill through her. She twists in his lap to kiss him, making a disappointed sound when the movement has him slipping out of her and leaving his release to spill down the inside of her thighs. For several long, delicious moments, he explores her mouth before kissing a trail down her neck and over her shoulder. 

She can tell the instant he opens his eyes and sees her knees. His whole body stiffens and recoils the tiniest bit, and his hands lift to hover only a hairsbreadth above her skin. “Sansa,” he says, his voice full of horror. “Gods, I hurt you, I… I _bruised_ you.”

“Mmmm,” she purrs in satisfaction, “and it was lovely.”

“But…” Jon can’t seem to finish his own words. He stands, gathering her up against him with such care that she could be made of the most delicate glasswork. But when her feet touch the ground her knees turn to water, and she wobbles down to the floor, giggling and pulling him down with her so that he lands with his chest at her hips. He’s not laughing; his face is twisting itself into remorse. “Oh gods, how could I-”

“Jon,” she says, reaching to hold his face in her hands and cutting off his words before he can work himself into a fit of self-loathing, as she knows he’s prone to. “It was _lovely_. I have never felt so much pleasure.”

“Sansa,” he says softly, doubt still in his eyes. She pushes the hair trailing over his forehead away with gentle fingers, her heart so filled with love for him that she thinks it might spill out of her and onto the floor around them.

“I speak only truth,” she says. “But if you wish, there is a way to make it up to me.”

“Tell me,” he says, leaning into her touch, his thumbs tracing circles on the crease of her hips. “Anything, I’ll do anything.” She shivers at the promised delight in his words. It takes some wriggling – which almost distracts her from her intent, so lovely does it feel – but she works herself further up on the floor beneath him until her hips are at his face. Then she opens her knees, shivering again at the way his eyes roll up and flutter closed, at the way he breathes deep, as if the smell of her cunt is intoxicating. She catches his hands and sets them on the insides of her thighs, then winds her fingers in his hair and tugs him closer, to show her meaning beyond any shadow of a doubt.

“I want at least two more bruises tonight, Jon,” she says, and he moans, the sound deep and ardent and thrilling. It takes him less than a moment to cover her with his mouth, to flick his tongue perfectly. She bucks against the stone floor, feels the bite of his fingertips into the soft flesh of her thighs, and she smiles, knowing she may get more than two for her trouble.


End file.
